


Privacy

by LunaticFrynge (MickeyWay)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bottom Dean, Brief mention of previous unsafe sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Roman being too sweet for what Dean thinks he wants, Sexual Fantasy, With a Hint of Plot, sloppy bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickeyWay/pseuds/LunaticFrynge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blood pumping in his ears was loud, louder than his breaths, and in the back of his mind his projection of Sami was chanting his name. Dean reflected, from somewhere in his mind that wasn't completely focused on reaching his climax, that he still couldn't get the sound of Sami's voice right. The chants sounded like a question. Dean let out a moan that echoed in the small bathroom, and that same rational part of his brain snickered. He sounded straight out of a porno.</p><p> </p><p>       And that was when the bathroom door opened. Dean, with a hand on his cock, the other with two fingers buried in his ass, made direct eye contact with Roman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Privacy

**Author's Note:**

> A) This is my first wrestling fanfic AND my first nsfw fanfic so please be kind
> 
> B) Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated
> 
> C) You can find me at lunaticfrynge.tumblr.com

       He told himself it was just the long drive. Just the never-ending road and the boredom that got him so horny. Just bored, he is most certainly not getting the hots for Roman Reigns. He'd spent the last three days staring at the back of his head, for fuck's sake. (He'd lost the coin toss, resigned to the back seat for the whole trip. He still maintains Seth had cheated.) He rolled out a sigh. He had friends now, two good friends. A team. He wasn't about to fuck any of that up, not again. Similar events had fucked up the team dynamic between him and Sami, so that wasn't going to happen again.

 

       At least, that's what he told himself. As usual, his thoughts and his actions didn't necessarily add up. There he was, in the bathroom of some shitty hotel in possibly the worst Memphis in the entire United States. Memphis, Tennessee. In the bathroom, trying not to stick his hands down his pants. It'd been too long, too goddamn long since he'd had a good fuck. That's all this was, and when Roman had stretched at dinner, the hard, firm muscles in his arms working, and his face relaxing into a blissful contentment, it was just a coincidence that Dean had felt the look of that face settle in his lower belly. He'd excused himself early, the other two members of the shield going to use the rarely supplied complimentary gym. Dean couldn't figure out how a hotel that didn't have a lock on the bathroom door had a gym, but at least he didn't have to be with his team right now.

 

       He leaned against the counter, half a hard on tempting him in his jeans. It was times like this he really missed that Callihan fucker. He could almost hear him moaning in his ear. _Look at you, Jon. Fuck. You're such a fucking slut, what're'ya goin'ta do?_ He would say, in his stupid fucking accent. _What're'ya goin'ta do? Rub yourself off against the bathroom counter? Thinking of him? You lose, fucker, 'cause you're thinkin'a me._

 

       “Shaddup.” Dean mumbled to himself, “Fuck off.” He sighed, turning around and feeling the cold press of the counter against the strip of flesh between the bottom of his shirt and his belt. He grimaced, leaning his head back. Pulling the tank top over his head, he cursed whoever owned this hotel for being too cheap to install an actual A/C unit. He checked his watch, probably had 45 minutes before the other two men would join him in the room and all opportunity would be lost. He sounded a breath through his teeth. It wasn't jacking off that was the problem, it was that if he did, he had to admit he was jacking off to Roman Fucking Reigns, and then he was going to have to admit that he was attracted to him, and he was going to get all squirrelly and weird about shit and he was going to ruin the team. Honestly, he'd come into the bathroom planning to jack off, he'd brought lube and everything, it was just the thought of having to face Roman after that that paused him.

 

       Fuck it. Fuck it. He didn't like to feel like Jon Moxley anymore, but Mox wouldn't have hesitated. That was the only good thing about Mox. Maybe- maybe he should just do it. What's the worst that could happen? If he started to think about Roman, he'd just think of Sami Callihan instead. That was weird, as the two hadn't talked for years, but not as weird as having to look Roman in the eyes a couple of minutes after stroking off to him.

 

       If he was going to be Mox, he was going to be Mox all the way. Closing his eyes, he tried to force himself back into that mindset. Tried to remember the sound of Sami's voice, the way he talked, how he would- cut off sentences- halfway through like he was... thinkin about how'ta finish. Dean smiled as he undid his belt, and pushed his boxers and jeans down to his knees. Hopping up onto the counter, he leaned back against the mirror. He ran a hand up his chest, scratching over a nipple ([the good one](http://www.wwe.com/inside/dean-ambrose-interview)), and pushed his hair back. With the other hand, he traced a pattern on his thigh. Still half hard, he teased around his cock, running both hands along the top of his thighs again, like Sami used to. He tried to think of what Sami would say.

 

_You're a fuckin' idiot, Moxley._

 

       Okay, yeah, that was about right.

 

 _But right now, you're my fuckin' idiot._ Dean shimmied a bit, getting comfortable. _Go ahead, touch yourself, pretend it's me._ Dean obeyed the words of his own brain, hissing out a breath as he took his quickly hardening cock into his hand. _Yeah, just like that._ Dean wasn't sure whether that was him, or Sami. Slowly, he moved up and down the shaft, twisting a little around the head, just the hint of nails scratching along. _Slowly, slowly. I want you to feel it._ No, no, Sami's voice wasn't that low, wasn't that husky. That sounded more like-

 

 _No. You're not thinkin' of him._ 'Sami' said, _Think of me._ Dean did, pictured him now. When he had the blonde streaks, frosted tips or whatever. Dean pictured him sinking to his knees in front of him, his big, green brown eyes staring up at him. _You asshole, I never kneeled to you._ Dean knew, of course he knew, but he wasn't exactly going to be able to come just from imagining himself getting choked on Sami's cock. _You have before._ Yeah, he knew, shut up.

 

       Anyway, Dean pictured Sami there, and paused the fantasy for a second to remember just how beautiful Sami was, especially like this, down below him. In his mind, Dean let the florescent lights of the bathroom glint off of Sami's chain necklace. They'd both worn one while they were a team, to look like a team, but also because Sami loved choking Dean on the cold metal collar, pulling it hard while fucking him from the back. Dean had passed out once, clocking Sami in the eye once he'd woken back up. _Stop remembering the past, asshole, fuckin think of me here._

 

       Dean was rock hard now, and squirming on the counter. He hadn't given himself permission to speed up yet, and his patience was wearing thin. Instinctively, he opened his eyes to look pleading, and realized, all at once, and with a jolt. He was picturing Roman. _Fuck you, man._ Sami said in his brain. _Just tryna help you out here._ Dean focused, shutting his eyes again to see as much of Sami as possible. In his mind, Sami leaned forward, taking the tip of Dean into his mouth, he smirked, too. The asshole. Dean coated two of his fingers in the lube and slowly started to work them inside himself, not taking too much care to be gentle. He _was_ with Sami after all. Even though he'd technically told himself he wouldn't think of the past, he remembered back to probably one of the best times with Sami.

 

       They'd been staying in a hotel that made the one he was in now look like the fucking Hilton. Dean didn't remember much about the events that had led them there, the memory was blurred, most likely from booze and pills, to just the best parts. Dean bouncing on Sami's cock on the bed, whimpering like a whore. He'd come hard, eyes rolling back and collapsing on top of the other man. In the moment, laying chest to chest with the man, post-coital haze settling like a fog over his body, he'd whispered three little words that had ended up fucking up everything.

 

       Dean frowned at that part of the memory, but the rest of it had brought him awfully close to his tipping point. It was bittersweet.

 

       Dean didn't focus long on that, too close now to think about sadness and pain. He used the hand that wasn't teasing him to make little scissoring motions inside himself, moaning softly under his breath, a litany of curses that would make a nun blush. The angle wasn't right to hit his prostate, but the pressure and the stimulation were good enough. The blood pumping in his ears was loud, louder than his breaths, and in the back of his mind his projection of Sami was chanting his name. Dean reflected, from somewhere in his mind that wasn't completely focused on reaching his climax, that he still couldn't get the sound of Sami's voice right. The chants sounded like a question. Dean let out a moan that echoed in the small bathroom, and that same rational part of his brain snickered. He sounded straight out of a porno.

 

       And that was when the bathroom door opened. Dean, with a hand on his cock, the other with two fingers buried in his ass, made direct eye contact with Roman. Roman, who looked uncharacteristically emotive. Lips parted in surprise, he was frozen at the door. Dean was frozen on the counter, almost, _almost_ forgetting that he was naked.

 

       “I'm-”

 

       “Yeah.”

 

       Dean, in a moment of anxious impulsivity, snickered. “You got two choices here, brother.”

 

       “Yeah,” Roman repeated, and all at once Dean noticed the flush in Roman's cheeks, the tent in his workout shorts. Dean blanched as Roman stepped through the door and shut it behind him. “If you weren't joking, we probably have fifteen or twenty minutes before Seth comes.” He said, seriously.

 

       “If you're good, it shouldn't take me that long before I do.” Dean said, not seriously. Roman rolled his eyes, and Dean relaxed a little, at least this was going to be casual. Roman came toward him, and all the anxiety he had felt for a moment tripled, then fell away. He felt a bit like a prize, which was nice, sitting up there on the counter for Roman to examine; and examine he did. For one long moment, he seemed to be drinking Dean in. Dean tried not to think too hard about everything going on, he didn't want to over-think it. Roman came toward him, stripping off his shirt as he walked, and Dean got a view of the Samoan he didn't usually get. Roman, so careful about when and where he was taking his clothes off. Dean didn't really understand, if he had a body like Roman's, he'd be running down the street naked every day. But to each their own, he supposed.

 

       Roman pulled him off the counter, and god _damn_ he'd forgotten how strong he was. He set him down with his back pressed against the cool fake marble. Dean noticed that he himself was uncharacteristically quiet, worried that one wrong word would ruin this. Roman must have noticed, because his eyes went soft when they met, and he leaned in for a kiss. Dean hesitated for a second, about to suggest that they just fuck and get it over with, but he decided to let Roman take control. Dean, for the first time in a long time, really realized how much he enjoyed being a bottom. It was so nice, so easy, not to have to worry about what to do in these situations. He let Roman pry his mouth open with his tongue and let him guide one of the most tender, soft kisses he'd had in- well, his whole life. It made his chest hurt a little, an unfamiliar sensation that he remembered from just before he'd ruined everything with Sami. Dean pulled back, his heart in his throat.

 

       “Could-” He cleared his throat and blinked a few times, “Would you fuck me?” Roman smiled, the shit eating smirk he only did every so often. Dean loved it. Pre-obediently, perhaps instinctively, Dean turned around so his back was to Roman, leaning against the counter, he wiggled his ass a bit. When Dean looked into the mirror to make sure everything was okay, he was first struck by how Roman was looking at him. Hot and heavy was really the only way to describe it. And honestly? Dean couldn't blame him, he looked like a hot mess. Eerily, Dean realized, he looked a lot like Mox. His hair was all pushed back, except for a few long strings that fell into his eyes. His eyes were dark and feverish, hazy like he'd already been fucked. Jon Moxley would've been more turned on by the sight of himself like this, Dean Ambrose wasn't so egotistical. Roman sidled up behind him, urging him into more of a standing position.

 

       “You know, if we had the time, we'd be on the bed.” Roman said, a little under his breath. Dean wasn't sure if he should respond. He let out a little hum of acknowledgment. Dean heard the sound of pants dropping. “Turn around again, I ain't done with you.” Roman said, mirth leaking into his serious voice. Dean obeyed, curious. Roman pulled him into a kiss again, using his hand to stroke his sides now. Dean squirmed, a little ticklish. Roman pulled him as close as he could, Dean almost overwhelmed by the smell and the taste and the feeling of it all, he fell almost limp in his arms. Roman stroked a hand through his hair and Dean let out the first involuntary sound of, he was sure, was to be many; a long moan that was almost a sigh. Roman growled a little, liking the sound. Dean noted that. If Roman liked noise, Roman was going to get noise.

 

       “Fuck, just-” Dean wasn't really sure what he was asking for, “Do _something_ , I was so close when you came in.” Roman wrapped a hand around Dean's cock and started stroking. “Ah, God, that's good- yeah- but if you want me to last fifteen to twenty minutes-”

       

        “Probably more like ten now.” Roman corrected gently, but taking the hint, he encouraged Dean back with his stomach against the counter. Dean squirmed. Roman held him by the hips for a moment, stilling him. Everything was motionless, then Roman let his hands stroke up the back of Dean's thighs, taking a handful of his ass. “Damn.” Roman said. Dean smiled, he felt Roman position himself behind him, and he pressed his face against the counter to help. “No, none of that.” Roman pulled him up so he was balancing on his elbows. Dean didn't really know what 'that' was, so he stayed on his elbows. Well, he tried.

 

       Roman pushed in a little, just the tip, and Dean let out a quick, openmouthed whine, almost like a squeak. Roman stopped. “You good?” He asked. Dean faced Roman in the mirror, looking a little concussed, and nodded. Roman smirked and pushed in the rest of the way. Almost drooling, Dean let out more of a sigh this time, wiggling in place. Roman held his hips firm, steadying him.

 

       Dean waited for Roman to start pounding into him, using him, telling him he was such a fucking slut for letting him fuck him in some random bathroom; but it never came. Instead, Roman pushed slowly in and out of him, savoring it, almost. The one hand he wasn't using to hold Dean still was stroking up and down his back, giving reassuring little squeezes every so often. It was slow, it was soft, it was delicious, it was- not fucking. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, right? Dean grimaced.

 

       Roman stilled. “You alright? You tensed up.”

 

       Dean mumbled into his arm, “Don't need'a treat me like a fuckin' flower, I ain't delicate.”

 

       “Mm, I beg to differ.” Roman breathed, but changed his angle. With a touch more force this time, he pushed into Dean again and hit his prostate like a bulls-eye. Dean's eyes practically rolled out of his skull. He let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and went entirely limp. Roman caught him, which was lucky. Roman chuckled. “Okay.” He grabbed Dean by the waist and heaved him up onto the counter, face up. A little more manhandling, and he was pretty much staring into Roman's eyes while Roman fucked into him. A few minutes ago, that would have been a problem, but Dean's thoughts and filter were long gone now, replaced by a steady rhythm of _ah-ah-ah_ 's that were somehow escaping from his mouth. Roman was pretty much hitting his prostate over and over and over again at this point, so any coherency Dean would have hoped to have before had long gone out the window. He thought of Sami for a moment, but that disappeared after a particularly forceful thrust from the other man. Dean realized that Roman could probably fuck him without any surface to balance him on, the other man was so strong he could probably just hold him up in the air. That, and the little reassuring smile Roman gave him was enough to send him tumbling over the edge. He came with a cry, probably meant to be Roman's name. Roman shuddered beneath him, Dean's writhing enough to send him over the edge as well.

 

       Dean laid there on the counter for a moment, just breathing before he said or did anything stupid.

 

       “Hey,” Roman started, and Dean mentally prepared himself for a gentle let down. “Sorry for not knocking.” He finished. Dean, taken aback, snickered.

 

       “Honestly? I hope you never knock again, if this is what I get.” He sat up on the counter and looked the other man in the eyes.

 

       “Next time we'll have a bed.” Roman promised, then turned away to put his clothes back on before Seth came back.

 

       Dean, on the other hand, stayed on the counter, grinning like an idiot.

  
        _Next time._


End file.
